


If You're Lucky

by RedBubbles



Series: Rival Bands [2]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Flirting, Hand Jobs, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Punk, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 12:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11851686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBubbles/pseuds/RedBubbles
Summary: You hadn't given 2D much thought since your last encounter.Lie. You had been giving him a lot of thought. He had almost entirely encompassed your mind, and you longed to see him again. Longed to repeat the encounter you had shared many months ago. Longed for him, in mind, body, and soul.You don't expect to meet him in a crowded club, and you don't expect him to acknowledge your relationship. You don't expect him to lead you outside, or to make you gasp and moan and desperately call his name, neither does he expect the same from you.It's a chance encounter, and a lucky one at that.





	If You're Lucky

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out my imagines blog on Tumblr (2d-imagines)](https://2d-imagines.tumblr.com)

Your teeth snag your lip, and you glance up and down the bar, trying not to appear as bored as you feel. The man beside you has almost ceased to exist, fading into a dull cloud of monotonous words and heady aftershave. 

The club is cramped and densely packed with people. The crowd moves in unison, the lights swinging and making studded noses and lips and eyebrows glitter, highlighting the insane heads of multicoloured hair as they twist and turn across the room. Somewhere on the other side of the room, an electric guitar screeches, the crowd screaming back, and songs meld into each other in a crescendo of humming bass, heavy drums and almost shouted lyrics.

Punk is the order of the night, anarchy the prime special. This kind of club is the kind you’d be recognised at, if there were indeed anything about you to recognise. You blend in perfectly, all dark clothes and studded shoulders and heavy boots. 

You won’t get recognised. Which is exactly why you’re here.

For escape. 

The man moves a little closer, his mouth by your ear. There’s a row of three little silver studs in his eyebrow, and you stare at them out of the corner of your eye as he whispers something nonsensical but undoubtedly sexual in your ear, his hand creeping to encircle your wrist. 

You pull away then, angling your body toward him, head on, and whipping your hand away. He looks mildly surprised, his studded eyebrow raised.

“You ok?”

“I’m not interested,” you tell him, and then, as an afterthought, add, “sorry,”

He stares at you for a few moments, and then shrugs, downing his drink in one swift moment and slipping off the seat, melting into the crowd with barely a backward glance. 

You stare after him as the crowd seamlessly melds back together to fill the gap he had made upon entering, and then turn back to the bar, leaning your chin on your fist and staring blankly at the rows of bottles on the other side of the bar. You run a hand through your hair, still slightly tacky with hair spray.

The guitar screeches and the microphone screams with feedback, only prompting the crowd to scream back even louder. The momentary lapse between songs brings out chatter and laughter and cheering. You glance over your shoulder at the crowd. 

Despite the studs that cover nearly every available space on every piece of fabric, everyone crushes in together, melding into a bright, tough, colourful, heavy spiked sea. 

Every head of blue hair catches your attention. For a split second, you swear you see the blue perma-bedhead, a sloped nose, pale skin with flushed cheeks, eyes half closed. Could they be black? A tilt of the chin, turning their head ever so slightly toward you, just a few more inches and you’ll see the obnoxious gap toothed grin and those deadly eyes…just a few more...

A few very familiar opening bars of music reach you through the undulating crowd, and your attention is shattered.

It's time for you to leave.

_I ain’t happy, I’m feelin’ glad_  
_got sunshine, in a bag_

You straighten up and wave to the bartender, digging in the deep pocket of your jacket for your wallet. 

_I’m useless, but not for long_

You feel your phone buzz against your fingers, but you ignore it, pulling out your wallet and flipping it open to find your card.

_The future is coming on_

The bartender hands you the card reader wordlessly, busying herself while you stab out your PIN number. Hearing this fucking song has put you in an instant bad mood. Everything about it is wrong. The voice especially.

You withdraw your card and push the card machine back across the bar, standing up from your seat and checking your phone.

You almost drop it in shock.

**Message received 22:46. Sender unknown**  
_didn’t think this was ur scene_

You recognise that number. 

You look up, head swivelling left and right, trying to see between the gyrating bodies and brightly coloured heads of the crowd. Your heart thuds a little. You hadn’t seen 2D personally since that night, and that had been almost 3 months ago. Sure you’d _seen_ him, in interviews and in show lifestreams and even a few times in the same bars, but always surrounded by people, surrounded by his bandmates…surrounded by girls. 

You whip your gaze back down to your phone.

**Message sent 22:47**  
_This is actually very much my scene. Maybe you should get to know me better_

You scold yourself for acting so rashly, and slowly lower yourself back into your seat. You let your hair swing around your face, and continue looking around as subtly as you can. 

A hand curls around your waist from the opposite direction to which you’re looking and you whip around, throwing your hair back from your face, mouth slightly open. 2D spreads his fingers out as he trails his hand around your waist and over your lower back as he circles you like a starving dog, a triumphant, cocky smirk on his lips.

You can’t help the swoop of nervous excitement that threads through your stomach as he slips into the seat beside you. You don’t realise you’re gawping like a starstruck fan until he looks back over at you and raises an eyebrow questioningly. It’s all you can do to just close your mouth and try to look like less of an idiot. 

Shutters come down behind your eyes, and you take a deep, silent breath in. You’re more than his equal. You let your shoulders relax, and stretch yourself out along the bar, blocking his view of anyone behind you, resting your chin on your fist. You artfully arch one eyebrow, and allow your eyes to flicker up and down his body as you flick your tongue across your lips.

“Fancy running into you here,"

He studies your body language in a quick glance, and then rolls his own shoulders, leaning on the bar.  
“I was with Noodle,” he says, resting his chin on his fist, “this isn’t my usual haunt,"

You glance at his attire; white t-shirt and camo jacket, ripped jeans and scuffed purple Doc Martens.

“I can tell,” you say, the gesture vaguely at the leather clad, heavily pierced crowd, “you don’t look the part,”  
His eyes move up and down your body and clothes, the leather, the studs, the rips and tears and scuffs and patches.  
“You do,” he says, his tone eliciting something deeper in you, something you hadn’t properly felt since the last time you had hooked up with him.

It’s worth a shot, right?

You sit up, pretending to stretch, his eyes follow you, watching as your shirt rides up, showing off a tantalising sliver of skin.

“I was actually just leaving,” you tell him, poised on your seat as though you’re about to bolt at any second, “so unless you wanna buy me a drink…”

It works. He shifts too, slipping out of his seat. 

“Do you have anywhere to be tonight?” he asks, but you simply swan past him and barely cast a glance backwards. The way the crowd splits means that he has to dodge to keep up with you, walking directly behind you. A few times he falls back, and you resist the urge to look and see if he’s been caught on the arm of a fan, but then you’ll hear a muttered curse or a grunt and he’ll be behind you again.

The bouncers nod as you walk out and you smile at them. The cold air hits you like a brick wall, and you stand for a few seconds just gasping for air and shivering, waiting for 2D to emerge after you. When he does, his fingers link around your wrist, and he tugs gently. 

You’ve barely even managed to turn around before his lips are on yours and he's herding you away from the entrance to the club. How either of you manage to walk and not trip or even stumble while passionately lip locked is a mystery. You back presses against a brick wall, and he holds you there for a moment, pinning you with his whole body, and then guides you away, down a deserted, dark alleyway. 

If anyone were to look into it, nothing would give the two of you away except your laboured breathing, hidden as you are amongst the congealing Chinese takeaways and filth.

Location doesn’t matter. All that matters is 2D; his hands in your hair and on your waist, his lips on your neck and on your own, his eyes on your body and his body pressing against yours. He barely blinks for lack of wanting to tear his gaze from you.

His hand is on your thigh, inching higher, and you tighten your grip around his neck, pulling him closer.  
“You’re awfully plucky tonight,”  
“Must be the booze,” he replies, fingertips skimming over your slivers of exposed skin through the rips in your jeans, making you shiver and raising goosebumps on your arms. You slide your leg between his, and feel him grind down against you. You feel how hard he is, and you lick your lips, hands splaying out on his hip bones as he rocks back and forth gently.

“Maybe I’m feeling a little plucky too,” you whisper. You kiss him quickly to silence any queries or responses he tries to voice, and kiss along his jaw and down his throat. You grip his hips gently as your kisses trail over his collar bone, ending with a gentle bite just beside the dip of his jugular.

You kneel down, thankful that the ground is dry and your jeans are old. You push him backwards, his back hitting the opposite wall so he’s slightly at an angle. Sometimes, the narrow British alleyways were a curse. Other times, a blessing.

You unbuckle his belt slowly, licking your lips again as you look up at him. It’s hard to make out his expression in the darkness, but you can tell he’s smirking, albeit a little breathless. He’s happy with the way things are going.

You ever so slowly pull down his jeans, then his underwear, only just enough. As you wrap your hand around him, you alternate your grip, moving your hand until he’s huffing and moaning softly. 

You tease a lot, sometimes bringing your mouth close enough to drop a feather light kiss on the hot skin of his cock, and then pulling away with a soft laugh as he bucks and keens quietly.

You lavish your tongue up and down his cock but never take him into your mouth, laughing at him whenever he tries to push your head closer, revelling in the dominant joy that wells up in your stomach every time his fist falls away from your head, white knuckled and trembling ever so slightly. 

The first time you take him into your mouth fully, he sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, and as you raise your head again, he sighs, tongue flickering out to lick his lips. You giggle around him as you go down on him again, earning another sharp intake of breath. You pull off entirely, keeping your hand wrapped around him, moving up and down slowly. Your lips hover just millimetres above him, and you blink up at him with innocent doe eyes.

“You sound a little…frustrated,”

He clenches his jaw and his hand laces through your hair. He wrinkles his nose.  
“You’ve been using cheap hair spray again,”  
You run the point of your tongue up the underside of his cock before pulling away.  
“Are you really in a position to be trying to insult me?”

This time, his hand presses against the back of your head, trying to bring your mouth closer to him. You bare you teeth at him playfully, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps.  
“I wasn't insultin’ you,” he replies, “I was makin’ an observation,”

“An insulting observation,” you reply, trailing your lips up and down his length, occasionally letting them part and pressing open mouthed kisses and gently, lavishing licks. He grunts again, the hand that isn’t in your hair curling into a fist, pressing his knuckles against the wall. 

You open your mouth again to take him in, shutting your eyes and pushing just about to your gag limit before pulling off again. This time he growls as you move your hand up and down his cock, and his fingernails dig into your scalp.

“You’re such a tease,” he mutters, and you smirk, pumping your hand up and down a few more times, and then stopping entirely, standing up and stepping back. 

2D’s expression is one of frustration and shock as he quickly tucks his hard cock back into his underwear and yanks his jeans up. You grin at him, not expecting him to step forward and press you against the wall, smashing his lips to yours. It takes all your strength and willpower to break the biting kiss by tugging his hair. 

“Tease the boys and make ‘em cry,” you whisper.  
“I think that refers to school boys,”  
You press your hand flush against his lower stomach, feeling him buck into your touch.  
“Works for you,”

He pushes you back against the wall again, grinding against you, pinning you against it and caging you in with one arm beside your head and the other wrapped around your waist. 

“You fucking tease,”

He kisses you again, at such an angle that forces you to tilt your head back and rest it against the cold wall to reach him. His hand trails down from your waist as you part your lips against his, and his other hand tangles in your hair. He finds the hem of your shirt, pulling it up just enough to slide his hand up the bare skin of your stomach, pulling your shirt up as he moves to grip your bare waist.

Pressed flush against the wall, the rough bricks scraping against your bare back and the cold seeping into your skin, with 2D’s lips on your neck and your leg between his own, you’ve never felt more alive. Or horny. But mostly alive. He’s grinding down against your thigh, his hands slipping higher and higher, pulling your shirt up more, teasing you beyond belief. Your shoulder blades come into contact with the brick, but you’re too caught up in the kiss to think or do much about it. 

You stop his hands as they go to your bra, and pull away from the kiss.  
“Not here,” you whisper, gasping for breath. 

“My place or yours?” he asks, voice low and slightly breathless.  
“I have a roommate,” you reply. He’s already pulling away from you, drawing you after him, beckoning you with mind, body and soul.

“My place,” he says, “I have a hotel room,”

You follow like a lamb, drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

“Lead the way,” you whisper, the words falling in a hushed rush from your lips, “lead the way,"  
___________________________________  
There’s no battle, not like the first time. The second the door shuts behind you, your back is pressed against it and 2D is pressed against you, his lips on your neck, gripping the lapels of your leather jacket to hold you close. You arms thread around his neck, letting his hands grasp your waist and pull you against him. His lips are desperate, his kiss hungry. One of your arms locks around his neck, and the other sifts through his hair. 

You hook one of your legs around his hips, pulling yourself up straight, pressing your chest against his. He moans weakly, pushing you harder against the door, pushing the breath from you, making each desperate grab for oxygen against his frenzied lips that bit sweeter. 

His touch is insatiable, reminiscent of a school boy during his first kiss but with deliberate expertise, trailing over your jaw and over your chest, around your waist, tugging you closer for a moment before trailing down to grip your arse.

His hands move up your thighs, and before you know it he’s hiking your jeans down with one hand, greedily grabbing as much of your upper thigh and arse as he can with the other. Smirking against his lips, you grasp his wrist, pulling it firmly away from your flesh, twisting it slightly. 2D pulls away, panting and confused, his brow furrowed. You tut, releasing his wrist and pushing him back a little.

“You’re not going frigid on me, are you?” he asks as you slip out from beneath him smoothly. As you walk you sway your hips, running your hands through your hair.  
“You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word ‘frigid’,” you tell him with a coy look over your shoulder, “I’m simply teaching you manners. Sit,”

You gesture at the bed. 2D watches you, eyes narrowed, and then slowly moves over to the bed, discarding his jacket as he goes. You watch him with an angelic smile on your lips and a devilish glint in your eyes, waiting until he’s reluctantly settled on the mattress. 

“What are you saying about me?” he asks. His gaze has changed from lustful and impatient to cautious and confused. 

Oh how you _love_ to tease him.

You step forward slowly, shrugging off your jacket, and then letting your hands come to the zip at the front of your shirt. 

“What I’m saying, _darling_ ,” you say the word with sardonic relish, letting it sit in your mouth, “is that you’re easy,”

You settle yourself on his lap, and as his hands come up to grip your hips, grinding them down against his own, you realise the oxymoron you’ve just presented yourself. Here you are giving in to him for not only the first but the second time, and you’re calling him easy.

Then again, he truly is. His reputation is almost built on it. 

His lips on your neck distract you, and his fingers replace yours on the zip of your shirt, pulling it down with a slow restraint you hadn’t thought possible of him. His hands glide up your bare torso, pushing the shirt from your body, following the curve of your waist, up your chest, over your shoulders, pulling it down your arms and letting it drop to the floor. 

He doesn’t even try to keep his eyes on your face, looking over your body hungrily before pressing his lips to your neck, lavishing open mouthed kisses and love bites over your trapezius and clavicle. You wrap one arm around his neck and let the other hover over his arm, fingertips just brushing over his skin. You can feel the hairs on his arms standing on end, and as his hands move from your waist to your bra, you press your hands against his shoulders and push him backwards onto the bed. 

He feels around for the clasps of your bra and finally locates them at the front, practically tearing it from you.  
“If you’ve bent those hooks, you’re buying me a whole new lingerie wardrobe,” you growl against his lips. His response is to press his lips to yours and practically push you off his lap and onto the bed beside him, crawling up it so he can lean his shoulder against the sideboard and tower over you horizontally. The top of your head is just about level with his nose, and with your close proximity and the fact you’re lying on your side, you have to tilt your head up at an angle to kiss him. 

His kiss, hot and hungry and not at all delicate, is juxtaposed by his wandering touch, as his arm threads around your waist, spreading his fingertips out on the small of your back to hold you against him, the other hand cupping your cheek as he supports himself on his elbow. You cup his face with both your hands, grinding against him and making him moan against your lips. Hooking a leg over his hips, you pull his hips against yours, feeling him hard and hot against your lower abdomen. 

You can’t help the smirk that spreads across your lips as you allow one hand to trail down the length of his body before changing direction, sliding down his hip bone and palming him through his jeans. 

The needy groan that escapes his throat spurs you on, but you hold yourself back, desperate to undress him but also desperate to tease him. You pull back from the kiss, panting softly, hand putting just enough pressure on his crotch to make him buck into your hand.

“Ride me,” he whispers, breathless, eyes glittering in the darkness. You pause, leg still hooked over his hip, and then draw him a little closer, lips hovering over his.  
“I’m feeling lazy tonight,” you whisper teasingly, smiling as he exhales sharply, fingernails digging into your hips.  
“So am I,” he mutters, and then grabs your arm and wraps his arm around your hip, lifting you for a split second so he can roll onto his back, and then pulling you upright so you’re straddling him. The sudden movement leaves you light headed and flushed, your heart thudding. You’re stunned into silence for a second, but then, you realise that this is very much to your advantage. You shuffle backwards a little, so you’re sitting on his upper thighs, and grind against him ever so teasingly, smirking down at him in the darkness. 

His hands trace up and down your thighs as you unbuckle his belt with deliberate slowness, and edge his jeans down inch by inch. His breath hitches as your thumbs nudge against the hem of his underwear, and you chuckle, removing your hands and leaning down, continuing to grind against him achingly slowly, hands on his hips.

“You gonna beg for me, pretty boy?” you ask, licking your lips. An evil smile spreads across your face as you watch it dawn on him just what the position he’s put himself in means. His mouth opens in an O of indignant shock, and then his brows furrow, and you see the tendons in his neck flicker as he works his jaw back and forth in frustration.

You press a finger to his lips as he opens his mouth again to protest against your teasing ministrations, pushing your hand into his underwear and gripping him gently, moving your hand up and down along his length. 

His words die in his throat as his head falls back and he moans. You giggle and sit back up again, scratching your nails down his skin, leaving four long red lines from his collar bone to his hip bone.

“I never considered myself a dominatrix,” you say, continuing to move your hand slowly, “and I definitely never considered you a fan of fem dom,”

2D clenches his jaw, the first stirrings of satisfaction ebbing away as it becomes obvious that you have no intention of picking up the pace.

“A hand job is a hand job, no matter who’s giving it,”

You arch an eyebrow and smirk.

“Oh, really?” you ask, beginning to withdraw your hand, “in that case…”

He grips your wrist, stilling your retreat, and pulls you down so your chest is flush against his. He slides his free hand around to the back of your neck, grinding against you as he kisses you. The hand that had been on your wrist trails up your legs, and then unbuckles your belt, pushing your jeans down as much as they’ll go before he grabs your arse and pulls you up so you’re on your elbows and knees, allowing him to yank them down. You discard your jeans on the floor and slide off 2D, sinking into the mattress beside him. Your fingers brush against his as you both work to yank his jeans off, and as soon as they’ve dropped to the floor, he traces his thumb over the hem of your underwear, slowly nudging it down. You can’t help but grind against him with a needy moan, and he silences you with a kiss.

“You teased me,” he whispers against your lips.  
“You’re like a sodding school boy,” you growl, pulling away from him. Your hands go to his underwear, and as if predicting the teasing touches you had been planning to lavish on him a second time, he whips them off faster than you could have expected, barely jostling you, and pulls your hips against his, moaning like a beast. You gasp, gripping his arm and digging your fingernails in slightly.

“C-condom,” you manage to hiss through clenched teeth.  
“You’re on top, you get it,” he replies, and actually has the nerve to stretch his arms out and cross them behind his head. 

You slip out of bed and sift around in your jacket pockets, finally finding one.  
“Maybe I just won’t come back to bed, how’s that,” you ask, standing as naked as the day you were born in the middle of the room. 2D sits up, supporting himself on his elbows, a lazy grin on his face.

“You will,”

You glare at him for a few seconds, but finally the cold temperature in the room, draws you back to his side, beneath the covers and into his arms as he moves on top of you. He presses his lips to your neck, one hand tangling in your hair while he nimbly rips open the condom packet and puts it on with the other. 

“Nifty trick,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers tracing the dip of his spine as he rolls his shoulders back, bringing his hips to yours.  
“It’s a talent,”  
“Just about the only talent you ha-“ your words dissolve into a drawn out moan as he pushes into you, and your back arches up a little, arms tightening around his neck.

“Do you want to repeat that?” he asks. You shake your head as he ever so slowly draws his hips back and then pushes back in. You bite your lip, fingers finding purchase in his hair. 

His thrusts are slow and measured, and you clench your jaw as he teases you just enough to leave you frustrated.  
“This is payback, isn’t it?” you ask, and he grins, letting his pace get even slower.  
“Yep,”

You cling to him, trying to entice him into going faster by pressing your chest to his, layering kiss upon kiss on his collar bones and neck, tugging at his hair and moaning, but he doesn’t respond. Not even his expression changes, that elated look of triumph as you’re reduced to a moaning mess between him, on the verge of begging.

“C-come on, D,” you whine, “I didn’t tease you this much,”  
“Might not have felt like it to you,” he replies cooly, his voice barely showing the effort it’s taking for him to hold back. You can see his pulse flickering at his throat, feel his muscles tensing and clenching with the strain of not just holding you close and pounding into you.

You’ve brought him undone before. You can bring him undone again. 

You arch your back and press against him, running one hand down the dip of his spine, the other cupping his cheek, pressing your lips to his and silencing your complaints against his lips. His shallow thrusts bring desperate whines to your throat, but you allow them to be lost to the kiss. You grind your hips up against his. 

“Come on, pretty boy,” you whisper, barely even breaking the kiss, “show me what you’ve got. I know you can do better than this,”

Your hand trails over his lower back, and you can already feel his thrusts beginning to speed up, becoming deeper and harder. You don’t let your moans betray you, just press your forehead and then your lips against his neck, nibbling and biting and moaning. 

The mere ghosting touch of your breath against his neck seems to spur him on, and his thrusts speed up to something more satisfying, a speed that light a fire in your belly and pulls gasping breaths from your lips.

He links his fingers with yours as he thrusts, rocking his hips back and forth and sending pleasure and heat rippling through your belly and chest. You wrap your trembling legs around his hips loosely and he bites the juncture between your neck and your shoulder as you turn your head to the side, exposing the area to him. He’s moaning against your skin, his teeth and lips working at your collar bone, absolutely lavishing it with bite marks and love bites. 

His skin is so hot to the touch, almost burning, and everywhere his breath and fingers touch seems to burn too. You feel like an inferno, being stoked from the inside out, or maybe the outside in. Your mind melts with the heat, and you graze your nails down his back, feeling him arch and writhe beneath you.

His teeth worry at your neck, staining your skin, sending pleasurable pain stinging through your neck. You bite your lip and turn your head into his neck, pressing your forehead against his cheek.

“Your performance has definitely improved,” you whisper, and he bites down harder.  
“Your’s hasn’t,” he replies as he pulls away, and then lather his tongue across the bite marks. 

You arch your back and wrap your legs around hiss hips tight enough to make your thighs burn as he quickens and deepen his thrusts, and your cries become louder and louder as you feel yourself being wound up, coiling and writhing and kissing him with clashing teeth and desperate lips. 

His thrusts become even more erratic, his breaths ragged, and as you throw your head back and cry out, he slams into you once more, burying himself inside you as deep as possible at the same time that you come undone as well, gasping and crying out. His ecstatic moans are muffled in your neck, and you two stay in that position for a few seconds, taut and poised like statues.

Then, by unspoken agreement, the two of you relax, your legs loosening around his hips and your arms falling either side of you onto the mattress. He bows his head, resting his weight on you, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, and rests his forehead in the curve of your neck. You can feel his laboured breathing on your collar bone, and you stroke your fingers through his hair with one trembling hand. 

You inhale and exhale deeply, and 2D catches his breath a little before pulling out and slumping beside you. You stare up at the ceiling, gasping for breath.

“Go take the condom off, you filthy animal,” you say after a while. You feel him smile against your shoulder, and then he sits up, slipping off the bed and padding silently over the lush hotel carpet to the bathroom. 

You sit up, watching as the rectangle of light cast out of the bathroom narrows as 2D shuts the door, leaving you in darkness. You look out the window to your right, at the sprawling London skyline, lit up with the nightlife. 

You feel as though you’re on the edge of a precipice. Stay, and you could well fall into a trap that so many celebrities before you have, the explosive, bright, inevitably destructive relationship.

Or you could leave. 

You crawl out of the bed as silently as you can, wincing at every creak the bed makes. You collect your bra, your shirt, your underwear and your jeans from where they lay discarded on the floor. How fitting they look intermingled with 2D’s clothes.

You hear the toilet flush, and 2D walks out just as you’re slipping your shirt on. He’s already lain down in the bed before his eyes adjust to the darkness and see you buckling up your belt.

“Hey,” he says, and you keep your eyes fixed on your belt.  
“Yeah?” you reply, still not looking up, pretending to be hunting for one of your socks when they’re both already in your hand.  
“Aren’t…aren’t you gonna stay?”

Oh, if only he knew how desperately you want to. 

Instead, you look up at him and give him a coy half-smile, slinging your jacket over your shoulders  
“And do what? Round two?”

He pushes himself up onto one elbow.  
“Yeah, maybe. Or just…cuddle, or something,”

You walk over to the bed after pulling your socks on.

“What kind of a one night stand is it if I stay and cuddle?” you ask, stroking from his temple, down his cheek and along his jaw to his chin, “careful, we might become something more than hook ups,”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he says, rising up a little more on his elbow. You laugh softly and lean down, cupping his cheek and kissing him softly, different to the other kisses you had shared that night. This one is gentle and delicate, and, like all meaningful kisses, ends too quickly. 

You pull your jacket tighter around you as you straighten up. 2D looks up at you, his profile half hidden in darkness.

He sits up to watch you go, and you pause at the door, hand resting on the handle.

“If you’re unlucky, I might come back,” you whisper. He smiles a little.

“If I’m really unlucky, you might stay,”

You slip your feet into your boots and blow him a kiss. 

It would be so easy to kick your boots off and rip your clothes off, cross the floor to the bed in three long strides and leap between the sheets beside him, let him explore your body over and over again while you explore his, let his kisses burn into your skin and his words and moans embed themselves into your memory.

“Good job you’re lucky then,” you whisper, opening the door and slipping away silently, leaving nothing but an indent on the bed and 2D alone in the darkness.


End file.
